Rhett Butler's people (23 page)

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pushed itself into our fete. What good are invitations when no one respects them?"

Scarlett pushed through the crowd. A rail-thin, whitish blond Confederate officer had his ear bent to Dr. Meade, a bearded physician who shared his community's good opinion of himself. Andrew Ravanel turned to Scarlett with a bow. "Had I known Atlanta possessed such beautiful belles, I should have visited before."

Searching for Ashley, Scarlett's eyes roved beyond the guest of honor. Offhandedly, she said, "It is just as well you don't come often, Colonel Ravanel. You've turned our city into Bedlam."

"Isn't it terrible?" His grin was innocent, a boy's grin. "Dr. Meade, won't you introduce us?"

Scarlett couldn't see Ashley anywhere.

"Colonel Ravanel, Mrs. Charles Hamilton. Mrs. Hamilton's husband gave his life for the Cause."

Melanie came to Scarlett's side.

"So very many sacrifices ..." The Colonel bent to kiss Scarlett's hand. "And this other lovely lady is ..."

"Mrs. Ashley Wilkes, Colonel. My husband, Major Wilkes, is on your staff."

The Colonel's smile froze in place. "Major Wilkes has returned to his regiment."

Melanie frowned. "But he just joined you."

"Wilkes asked to return to his Georgia regiment and I honored his request."

"But... I knew nothing.... Colonel, the mail is so unreliable! Please, tell me: How is my husband? Is Ashley in good health? Good spirits? Has he warm clothing?"

"Wilkes was healthy enough when I last saw him."

Melanie's brow furrowed. "But Colonel Ravanel..."

Dr. Meade rescued the Colonel from further awkward questions. "While our soldiers suffer dreadful hardships, speculators make fortunes. I have composed a strong letter to the

Gate City Guardian

denouncing those

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who convert public shortages to private gain." Dr. Meade paused for effect. "Colonel Ravanel, aren't you Charlestonian by birth? You must know Rhett Butler."

"Why, yes. His father, Langston, is in the Carolina legislature. Rhett's the black sheep, I'm afraid."

Melanie Wilkes said, "Captain Butler is my friend."

Dr. Meade bowed stiffly. "Mrs. Wilkes, I do not dispute Butler's charm. Tell me, Colonel, do you know what army 'Captain' Butler is a 'captain' in?"

Scarlett barely heard these trivialities. She was so disappointed she could scream! She'd so hoped to see Ashley. Just a moment, one precious moment! What nonsense was Dr. Meade speaking now? Was he condescending to Rhett Butler? "Doubtless, Dr. Meade, you'll be glad when Captain Butler returns, so you can state your patriotic views to his face." Scarlett's smile was deliberately insincere. "Come, Melanie, we must share the Colonel with his admirers."

Colonel Ravanel said, "My dear Mrs. Hamilton. You mustn't." He placed a hand on his breast and declaimed, "If you go, the light will leave the room."

"Colonel, it's winter and gets dark early. If you need light, purchase a lantern."

Melanie's worried eyes hadn't left the Colonel, "When I write my husband, Colonel Ravanel, might I convey your regards?"

"You needn't trouble yourself, madam. Captain Wilkes is well aware of my regard."

On their ride home, Aunt Pittypat prattled about how handsome the Colonel was. "What did he say to you? Melly? Scarlett? Every word! Oh dear, Melly, are those tears I see?"

That evening, Melanie was so worried about Ashley, she took a sleeping draft. Pittypat was in the kitchen soaking her blistered feet while Scarlett took sassafras tea in the parlor. Daguerreotypes elbowed one another across Aunt Pitty's crowded mantel, prints from

Godey's Lady's Book

hung beside painted miniatures, silhouettes, and indifferent watercolors.

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Every precious object held a memory. "That china press belonged to Melly's mother -- it would feel so

unwanted

'in the attic."

Scarlett shifted seashells (collected on a Savannah beach twenty years ago) to make room for her cup. Scarlett didn't care for sassafras tea, but she cherished her moments alone.

She closed her eyes to thank God that Ashley had left Colonel Ravanel's brigade! The newspapers' "legendary Confederate" was reckless with his men's precious lives. What if she lost Ashley?

Ashley killed! How could she have thought it! Quickly, she prayed, asking God to forgive her. She hadn't meant it!

A terrific jangling erupted on Aunt Pitty's front porch and a tenor voice sang, "If you want to have a good time, if you want to have a good time, jine the cavalry!"

When the bewildered Uncle Peter opened the door, Colonel Ravanel swept his plumed hat almost to the floor. "Good evening, Mrs. Hamilton. I have come to offer innocent diversion to Atlanta's loveliest lady!" The negro with the Colonel tapped his banjo significantly. His face was solemn as, one slow note at a time, he plunked the familiar "Lorena."

The Colonel recited the lyrics. " 'The years creep slowly by, Lorena. The snow is on the grass again.

"Sir ..." Uncle Peter protested.

"Go to bed, Uncle. Old boy like you needs his rest."

"You may leave, Uncle Peter." Scarlett rose from her chair. "Sir, I do not recall inviting you here."

" 'The sun's low down the sky, Lorena. The frost gleams where the flowers have been...

"Your memory has failed you, Colonel. I am not called Lorena."

He sighed profoundly. "Such a melancholy tune. We lonely soldiers sing it 'round our watch fires while dreaming of home and loving hearts we have left behind." His sad eyes invited her tenderest understanding. "Duty, dear Mrs. Hamilton -- may I call you Scarlett? -- duty is a harsh taskmaster."

"Sir, are you drunk?"

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Aunt Pittypat hobbled into the parlor, "Why, Colonel Ravanel..."

"You may return to the kitchen, Aunt Pitty. Colonel Ravanel is just leaving."

"But Scarlett..."

"Please!"

Shaking her head, Pitty withdrew.

The banjo player was so brilliant, he nearly blunted Scarlett's wrath. With soft notes, the banjo player mimed his master's disappointment. His chords were silent sobs. He sought memories of happier times, changed keys, and struck up the lively "Ye Cavaliers of Dixie."

Colonel Ravanel confided proudly, "Cassius's repertoire is endless."

"Doubtless your repertoire is equally extensive, as I'm sure Mrs. Ravanel can attest. I thought your wife, Charlotte, a pleasant woman. Certainly she is more tolerant of fools than I. Good night, Colonel Ravanel. Take your orchestra with you."

His amused eyes froze. "I am not accustomed to mockery."

"I am not accustomed to impromptu musicales in my parlor."

"Cassius!"

When the negro's flying fingers stilled, his final notes hung in the air like dust motes. For the second time that evening, Andrew Ravanel swept his plumed hat so low, its feather ticked the floor. "Madam, I so admire a patriotic gentlewoman."

" 'Patriotic'? Dear, dear me!" Scarlett covered her mouth in mock astonishment. "I didn't know

that

was 'patriotism.' I believe what you intended has ruder names, though no well-bred Georgia lady would admit to knowing them."

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Chapter

Chapter Fourteen

Wedded

Rosemary Haynes strove to overrule her own heart. If she pretended with enough determination, her lie might become true and she would love her husband. She swallowed her yawns at John's nightly reading and even suggested a book or two. Some evenings, when her husband turned to her at the top of the stairs, Rosemary found a smile.

"Am I hurting you?"

Her fists clenched at her sides. "John, dear. Please, take your own satisfaction."

Though conversations as husband and wife lurched like a wagon with a bent wheel, as Meg's father and mother they had no end of things to say to each other.

Rosemary was endlessly bemused by this wonderfully different edition of herself. Meg never dissembled. Sunny one moment, weeping the next: Meg had no natural reserve.

One evening when the parents came downstairs after hearing the child's prayers, John asked, "Why was she praying for horses? Meg was commending every horse in creation."

"When Cleo and Meg went to White Point today, apparently they came upon a cabbie beating his horse. Cleo told me the horse was old -- too old to pull anymore. Some adults were remonstrating ineffectually but Meg ran at the cabbie and pummeled his legs." Rosemary smiled fondly. "I suppose Meg's assault must have shamed the spectators, because an officer bought the poor beast on the spot."

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"Our dear daughter despises cruelty. The horse -- "

"Yes," Rosemary said, "I imagine our Good Samaritan shot the beast soon afterward, but Meg imagines him whole and well in green pastures. I had a pony when I was a child. Jack, my Jack. Perhaps Meg -- "

"Meg is too young for a pony."

John Haynes was invited to the legislature to discuss strategies for defeating the Yankee blockade.

Waiting for the Columbia train to depart, Rosemary's husband ventured, "I hate to leave Meg," adding quickly, "I'll miss you, my dear, of course." John Haynes longed for better words, magic words that could make things different between them. His voice faded. "Oh yes, I will miss you."

Despite a headache coming on, Rosemary advised, "John, please remember to dress warmly. You know how easily you take cold. Do remember to eat breakfast."

"Yes," he said. "Well ..." They embraced stiffly. She patted his hand.

He said, "Good-bye, my dearest."

Rosemary smiled and waved as John's train left the depot. But once his car was out of sight, Rosemary slumped on the nearest bench. Her temples throbbed. She shut her eyes and made herself breathe deeply.

She heard a train: its bell, the hiss of escaping steam, the rumble of porters' wagons and passengers' greetings. Brisk footfalls paused before her, and when Rosemary opened her eyes, Andrew Ravanel was smiling down.

Her headache was gone in an instant. Rosemary felt lighter -- so much lighter that, like thistledown, she might just float away.

"Well, hello there, Rosemary. Funny place to nap."

"Good heavens, Andrew! I hadn't known you were due. Where's your welcoming committee?"

The Colonel laughed. "General Bragg says it does Southerners good to see me now and again." Andrew pressed a hand to his breast melodramatically. "Dear Rosemary, I am a cheap utensil, like a bullet mold or mess kit, to be used until worn out and discarded."

Rosemary smiled brilliantly. "Then all this 'gallantry' is a sham?"

"Why, of course it is! But can you keep a secret? War is grand fun!"

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The negro carrying Ravanel's carpetbag had a banjo over his shoulder.

"Cassius, find us a cab. I'll slip into Charleston like a thief in the night. Come, Rosemary, I will take you home."

As their cab was trotting down Meeting Street, Andrew described his Atlanta reception. "As I climbed into the carriage, men were unhitching the horses. Had I fallen among horse thieves? But no! These citizens had it in their heads they must pull my carriage. They took up the shafts, trotting along so vigorously I wondered why such robust specimens weren't in the army.

"Next, I was bundled from my carriage, hoisted onto their shoulders, and deafened by cheers. I was rushed up the hotel stairs, worried my brains might be dashed out against the ceiling. At last I was set down, grateful to be on my own pegs. There, I met two of the grandest curmudgeons who ever curmudged. The good Dr. Meade delivered a denunciation of your brother, Rhett, that blistered my eyelashes, until I told Meade if Rhett were present, he wouldn't dare speak so boldly." Andrew took Rosemary's hand. "The other curmudgeon, Mrs. Merriwether, is so formidable, we should clad her in iron plate and sail her down Charleston harbor. Spouting commonplaces to port and starboard, she would wreak havoc in the Federal fleet. And those other Atlanta ladies ..."